They are beginning to start, once again.
The concept of Time is always a mystery to me, but I understand even less how it was Yom Kippur, and then I blinked, and suddenly everyone's planning the next round of High Holy Days. Synagogue People In Charge are taking vacations in anticipation of the spring chaos of membership drives that will pause, abruptly, as all of New York City (except me) makes a mass exodus to more pleasant climates during July and August. And then, even before summer ends, because Rosh Hashanah is so early (unlike last year, when we got a whole extra month to catch our breath and get ready to atone), a final sprint of preparation, plans, promises. I love the rhythm of the Jewish year, although it always takes me by surprise.
I don't know if I'll be asked to help lead again. But I think I will. I'm going to forget about this question until after Passover; I have enough other ways to drive myself nuts, such as learning a lot of Esther, which like a liturgical version of Pinocchio's nose seems to get longer and longer every time I practice.
Meanwhile, I'm psyched to help lead the meditation service once again. (Or, to rephrase in language congruent with contemplative practice, I'm anticipating the experience with calm, positive energy.) I demurred about making some decisions about the content of the service; maybe I should have been braver, but don't feel like I possess the right kind of knowledge or chutzpah. One day I will. Picking out the tunes, a quicker process this time because of scheduling issues, is the challenge I'm best suited to at the moment.